The Beautiful Game is Played
by theMatthewReview
Summary: It is August, 1957, and Matt Crawley and Billy Mason have just made it onto the reserve team of Manchester United! What a thrill! The world opens up for the two friends and they meet pretty girls - the daughter of a man who manages another team and a ticket seller. Then comes tragedy in Munich... (Deals with the Munich Air Disaster on 6 February, 1958, and its aftermath.)
1. Chapter 1

The list of the lads who had made it onto the reserve team for the 1957-1958 season had just been posted on the door of Mr. Busby's office. This was the next stage of living out that boyish dream of playing football, and there was no opportunity quite like the one offered by Manchester United Football Club. Young chaps from Salford, Openshaw, Radcliffe, Hyde, Wigan, and other spots all over Greater Manchester loved the open sessions offered to anyone in their teens that was interested in playing. They came from all the city's walks of life - who could resist the beautiful game, its speed and order, its exhilaration and friendly fury? And now, for eighteen of those young chaps, the thrill was about to grow larger. Imagine the possibility of playing for 'Man United', on that first team of energetic young men who had acquired a certain something that would carry them through match play amongst the best players in the entire country! And these eighteen boys could almost taste it…

_Jim Hopkins_

_Roger Bailey_

_David Pearson_

_Tom Pickering_

_Joey Truesdale_

_Billy Mason_

_Matt Crawley_

_Harry Blythe_

_Fred Eccles_

_Peter Dowling_

_Allan Meares_

_Tommy Bradshaw_

_Bob Raybourne_

_Will Watson_

_Don Logan_

_Nate Preston_

_Tim Avery_

_Rowan Mays_

The delight of being on that list, and the disappointment of not appearing there for many others, might last a week or two before the real work began. This did not guarantee a spot on the first team, not that things were set in stone. One might be on the reserves for six years or so before they decided not to pretend any longer; another's phenomenal gifts might ripen in a year. But let us focus on two lads from Chorlton-cum-Hardy who have been best friends since their primary school days; Billy and Matt. It couldn't be better for them, now, could it? It is true that if Matthew had not made it today, he'd 'just' be going to university in hopes of getting into medical school like his father did. It is true that Billy would see about becoming a police constable right here in his beloved Manchester. But they shine when they play football, that beautiful game.


	2. Chapter 2

On a balmy afternoon in early August, two lads, the closest of friends, emerged from the Imperial Picture Theatre on Chorlton Road in Old Trafford. For Matt Crawley and Billy Mason, it was their last carefree English summer, and they had just gone to see that American film by Alfred Hitchcock, _The Man Who Knew Too Much._

_'… _I really enjoyed that, Matty, didn't you?' Billy exclaimed as his eyes got used to the sunlight at nearly quarter past three.

'Oh, it was simply thrilling, chum. And I liked James Stewart, too!'

Matty's eyes adjusted to the brightness with a brightness of their own as he smiled. They were the most ethereal shade of blue; his father's eyes.

'I shall have to tell Mother all about it… well, maybe not all, I suppose, in case she'll want to see the film.'

The boys walked, with a spring in their step, to the corner, so they could cross the street properly. When they were just about there, Matt brought something else up.

'Oh, Bill, I think there was something else I have to remember having to do with Mother… did I tell you what that was?'

'You're supposed to bring home a quart of milk, a loaf of bread, and a pound of butter… but I just remembered something. The list of people who made the reserve team was supposed to be put up today on Mr. Busby's door!' Billy began matter of factly and ended up sounding quite stirred.

'I don't think anyone could forget _that!_' Matthew exclaimed. 'Shall we go see if we're on the list?'

'Yes, yes, yes…. I hope we are, too. Who wouldn't want to play for United? I mean, really play?'

It was a pipe dream, perhaps, for most of the youngsters who played on Matt Busby's youth team, to be called up to the reserves, to potentially be called up to play at Old Trafford instead of at the Cliffs. Instead of practicing with each other, the second team actually got to travel to other parts of North-West and North-East England, and sharpened their skills all the more, in front of trainers and coaches that reported directly to Mr. Busby about their progress. By the time one got to be Matt and Billy's age, it was time to think of the future, of going to university if one were bright or of finding a job somewhere in town. Not being on the reserve list for Manchester United meant that it was high time to grow up, to get one's exercise in some other way, to support the team in the stands with everyone else, that was all.

Of course, Matthew and William, at their most excitable, would be thrilled if their names were on that list, though it meant putting school off for one and/or not becoming a police officer quite yet for the other…

—0—0—0—0—0—

The boys had taken a local bus from the theatre to Old Trafford, and walked briskly towards the doors. (It would not have done to run like a couple of racketty kids, burst in, and raced each other to the club offices, now, would it have?) Some of their fellow Busby Babes in training were already in a queue outside, waiting to be let in by someone who worked in the front office. William and Matthew got to the end of the queue, now some thirty people. A few of them could just taste success, others sweated nervously, and still others milled about impatiently.

'Think you'll make the team, Crawley, you and your baby face?' teased Phil Underwood, the young man in front of them.

'That's anyone's guess… it depends on how people can fit together, just like on the first team,' Matt replied quietly.

'Awwww, Matty… look at it this way - you'd certainly meet more girls if you did make it, right?'


	3. Chapter 3

The doors had been opened. Some lads' eyes had been opened to the reality of the situation: the game is beautiful, the game is fun, but it can be the business of only a few. Very few faces looked transported with the childlike joy of having made the reserve team as they came out of the lift and headed out of the building. Yet all still loved United most fervently in spite of their disappointments:

_'__I'll certainly buy season tickets, though! That Duncan Edwards is like a revelation…'_

_'__Well, chaps, here's to a great year with the Busby Babes. My dad wants me to be an electrician like himself anyhow!'_

_'__Something tells me the new chaps' work has just begun. There were only four or five open slots to begin with, and they put someone in instead of one of the fellows from last year.'_

_'__Good luck to them… the present team are so good I wonder if anyone will actually be called up, you know?'_

People towards the end of the queue, including Matt and Billy, could feel the tension, the slight trepidation, as they got closer to a lift that could only hold six people going up or down. And what would this mean for the people that made it? Would play become work? Would a great deal more than anyone here realised depend on how consistently someone performed on a team? Matty began to wonder these things. And he thought of the sermon he'd heard just that Sunday at the Methodist Church about how patient, kind, hopeful, selfless, and steadfast true love is. (He and his mother were Nonconformists). How much would he truly love being on the reserve team; enough to make hard sacrifices? Enough to do anything for the team even if he didn't feel like doing it?

'…Matty, there's room on the lift; come on!' Billy was saying, tugging on Matthew's arm.

So Matt scrambled onto the lift, and stood beside Billy as it went to the first floor and the fateful list. When the door opened into the main office reception area, all the passengers getting off the lift went in the direction of Mr. Busby's office, walking past young men and their various expressions - be those of delight or resignation. And there was talk as soon as this group made their way down to Mr. Busby's door.

'… Matty Crawley…' 'Billy Mason…' 'I just knew they'd be on the list…' 'Good lads…'

Not a minute later, Matthew and William had reached the fateful spot, and now read the roll for themselves. Their names appeared, fresh and new amongst some that had been on the Man United reserves for two or three years now. What a feeling! The lads looked at each other, grinning from ear to ear, then looked back at the list as if their names might be a mirage - and were really there. They gave each other a bear hug, both feeling _as if _they had just _swallowed a box of fireworks _each.

'We made it, Billy! We're both on the reserves!' Matt exulted, his voice cracking and his big blue eyes shining.

'Oh, Matt! I'm so glad we're doing this together, aren't you?' Billy exclaimed.

The scouting report had said '_Matt Crawley and Billy Mason already show a keen sense of teamwork and like to include other boys in their plans. I see a wingback and a centre midfielder in these two lads; William is very teachable, quick and agile, and Matthew combines both power and brains with a cheery attitude - could be a future team captain. The two are close friends and would work well together.'_


	4. Chapter 4

On the same day, on the other side of the North of England, another group of young football players on the reserve team for Newcastle United were actually on their first day of training in 1957, and the new lads - about six of them - looked at their new regulation size practice pitch for the first time. Their new coach, Robert Grant, had played for the York Football Club from 1941 until 1953, and then had followed in his father's footsteps as part owner of a grocery chain that served both North Yorkshire and Tyne and Wear. Grant now sat on the board of directors for that same firm, and had a good income, but he had never lost his passion for the sport. Known as a blustery but often lenient man, he knew when to hold onto the reins and when to prod. He had a wife that loved to emulate ladies in the upper classes, throwing lavish teas for the wives of Newcastle United staff and the wives of grocery store executives with equal aplomb. Like most parents, Robert and Cora Grant wanted a better life for their children - all girls. In the nineteen-fifties some young ladies were able to rise up in the world, and all three of the Grants' daughters had a certain degree of ambition. The oldest daughter, Mary, had just finished at Heaton High School that June, and having thought she would take a year off to work before deciding whether or not to go to university, had been hired by Newcastle United to manage the ticket booth for the reserve team game

Now Mary was an attractive young lady, with hair the colour of mahogany wood and deep, dark brown eyes. Her skin was like porcelain clay and her lips like a skein of silken thread the colour of pomegranate seeds. Lithe and graceful, she often darted about like a lark in flight. Tending to keep boys at arms' length, she knew how to flirt, and got many things she wanted whilst playing 'hard to get.' In this world of young sportsmen, few young ladies could be found — but everyone was there to do a job after all. Mary was to keep the books, count the proceeds from ticket sales, and to oversee two girls who worked at the counters, Anna Smith and Daisy Robinson. Her father could be said to be proud of her at this point, but deep down, she had long thought that she was a disappointment to her parents because she was not a boy who could work his way up the ranks in the grocery business. Why, she'd show them, even though she loved them dearly….

Some of the lads kicked a football around amongst themselves, others ran the length of the pitch and back. Still others mulled about, tying their shoes, drinking their water, or even looking at Mary and her staff as they walked past on their way to the home stand.

'Will you look at those birds!' said one of the boys, a young man on loan from a team in the Istanbul Football League, to his new acquaintance.

Kemal Pamuk had been a little wild while playing in the Galatasaray Reserves; his coach back home hoped the talented boy would learn the virtue of restraint through the example set by proper English football players. So far he had met the comparatively plodding and dogged Evelyn Napier, who had kept the goal last season.

Napier replied drolly to Pamuk:

'I think one of them is the coach's daughter there. I don't know the other two girls, though...'


	5. Chapter 5

'Ladies, this area will be an outpost of civility and good manners in the midst of a world of men that play like schoolboys. We must keep it tidy, letting in the fresh air whenever possible. Men and boys will come here to buy tickets, and courtesy on our part will bring them back here with a smile.'

Mary said this as she led Anna and Daisy into a room with an office area and two ticket windows that faced an open area within a pavilion that served as the entrance to the stadium - a place the Newcastle reserves shared with players on the youth teams. While nowhere near as lavish as St. James Park, where the professional team played, the place was well kept enough that having elevenses or a proper tea would not have been out of place for the girls. A Russell Hobbs tea kettle could in fact be seen, clean of lime scale, on a side table covered in white linen. The Grants had set things up to be this pleasant a place for them to work, down to the whitewashed walls and the office supplies., not to mention small vases on the desks and counters, filled with white chrysanthemums at present.

'It is quite nice in here, Miss Grant,' Daisy uttered politely, her manners those of a sweet, humble person who had just gotten her first job.

'Thank you, Daisy,' Mary replied, returning her smile with a detached ease.

Mary thought for a moment of the amount of time she had spent with her parents and sisters transforming the place from a dull greyish room with glaring overhead lights into its present state. The varnished floor had been replaced with black and white linoleum - the team colours of Newcastle United, and a proper file cabinet had taken the place of five or six bankers' boxes full of forms, ledgers and receipts. Ah, yes, a proper place to do business….

'When is the first game, then?' asked pretty, blond Anna.

'Oh, this next Saturday, at 3 o'clock in the afternoon. We will be playing against Norwich City. After that, there's an away game with Blackpool, another one with Wolverhampton, then the Manchester United reserves are coming here, I think.'


	6. Chapter 6

Back in Chorltonville, Matt had almost forgotten to get the milk and eggs, but soon had his memory jogged by the sight of a flurry at the greengrocer's shop as old Mr. Teasdale struggled to retrieve the contents of an upset bushel basket before the small pieces of fruit rolled out into the street.

'Oh, dear, oh, dear…' the man was saying as Matthew's pace changed instantly from a leisurely stroll to a steady clip.

'Mr. Teasdale! Could I help you?' the lad asked, crouching beside the hapless chap as nearly a dozen greengages* settled into cracks in the pavement before them.

'Why, Matthew Crawley! I'd be much obliged if you would, young man…'

Sam Teasdale had known Dr. Crawley and Isobel for many years, and little Matty as a boy who loved apples and pears, and who waved hello to him in the mornings when he walked past the shop to school. Now Matthew was nearing the flower of young manhood, and Sam stubbornly denying that he should retire and hand the reins of the shop over to his son, Tim. It was Matthew that gathered up most of the unripened plums in his big yet careful hands and dropped them gently into the bushel basket, and Matthew that noticed a slight wheeze as Mr. Teasdale bent down here and there to fetch one or two fruits at a time from the ground.

'Mr. Teasdale, I hope you don't mind me asking… but have you had trouble catching your breath lately?'

And the lad looked at his family friend with kindness in his sideways glance.

'I had had the notion, my boy, but I've been too busy to see the doctor lately, with all Tim's bookkeeping troubles since Lily died.'

'You really should, or perhaps my mother could pay you a house call? Tonight, even?'

'Why, Matty, I couldn't impose upon your mother Isobel after the dinner hour….'

'Oh, but you must, sir! We'll both come to help.'

And with that, Matt effortlessly lifted a full basket of greengage plums up to the fruit stalls, and poured nature's bounty into an empty spot amongst them.

'You've just saved some beautiful plums, dear boy. They came all the way up from Glo'stershire this afternoon. Take some… as many as you like, Matthew, as many as you like.'

-0-0-0-0-0-0-0

Far be it from Matt not to remember the milk and eggs, which arrived at the Crawleys' home, Glendale House, with about two handfuls of fresh fruit from Gloucester way.

'Hallo, Mother!' smiled the boy as he came into the kitchen with the food.

Isobel Crawley looked up from the stove, where she minded a beef stew that smelled good and hearty to Matt.

'Matthew! Hallo, dear. I decided to give Mrs. Bird the day off, and to try out this recipe I found in _Woman and Home.'_

'It smells delicious,' Matt chirped, kissing his mother on the cheek before setting down his parcels on the kitchen table.

'Thank you, son…' Isobel grinned.

It flattered Mrs. Crawley to be made aware that she had not lost her touch, having employed Mrs. Bird in the first place because she worked such long hours at the hospital.

'So how was the movie, Matt?'

'Oh… oh, that! Billy and I enjoyed it very much, the cast was excellent and the plot thrilling. Mustn't give anything away though, since I recommend you see it….'

'And has anything else happened since? You're a bit later coming home than I expected you to be.'

Matthew told his mother about Mr. Teasdale, the gift of greengages, and the need for him to have a house call. Yet Isobel, having received a telephone call from one of the other Manchester United youngsters' mothers, wanted to hear certain good news from her son's own mouth, and waited eagerly…

'Of course we shall go see Mr. Teasdale, Matt. But that doesn't explain why you have such a big smile on your face! Why is that, Matthew?'

'Oh, Mother! I'm the happiest fellow I know today. I'm on the Manchester United reserves!'

And Matty took his mother in his strong arms and swung her around on the linoleum floor once or twice.

'Can you believe it, Mother? Can you believe it?'

The part of Isobel that wanted her son to follow in his father's footsteps balked a little at this prospect, but the part of her that loved Matthew to distraction, to pieces, was happy, and happy that he was so happy.

'I believe that you will shine anywhere, at doing anything, my darling boy.'


	7. Chapter 7

The first practices and the first games - against Manchester City, Hull City and Bolton Wanderers reserves - had gone by very quickly for our second string Busby Babes. They had won two of the games: City 1, United 4; Bolton 3, United 4…. and the game against Hull City's boys had resulted in a draw. And already, the Reds' teamwork had begun to gel:

'Here we go, Bill! Let's move it up to striking range!'

'Good on you, Matt… I'm right with you…'

Their assistant coach, one Bill Molesley, took notes on each player:

'_Like how they concentrate on getting the ball to each other… Mason, even more than Crawley, is nimble and quick. All the lads like Matthew, and I do, too, but I wish he'd be just a bit more aggressive. Matty certainly knows his first aid, though; he dropped everything to help when the Hull City goal-keeper got hurt trying to get the ball.'_

Today, though, Man United Reserves were bound on a charter bus to Newcastle, all the way across the north of England. Some of the lads were just a bit fidgety, while others tried to take a nap as the miles stretched on ahead.

'Have you heard much about Newcastle's reserves this year, Molesley?' asked Al Nugent, one of the referees, very quietly because the fellow next to him was able to sleep on the road.

'Oh, Bob Grant's as paternalistic as ever…he's giving some of the boys on his team another chance this year. I pity him if that Thomas fellow is one of them. That boy needs to learn that it's not all about him… also, Napier's back again. I can't understand why he's still there, or Gillingham or Blake, if they want to win more games this year.'

'Is there anyone new on their side?'

'There's a kid on loan from the Istanbul Football League. He's supposed to be pretty hot stuff… perhaps a bit wild. Name's Pamuk or something….'

'Will I end up having to remember that name, Bill?'

'Who knows, Al? Who knows?'

And the lad next to Mr. Nugent let out a big snore…

-0-0-0-0-0-

Truth be told, Robert Grant's mission in life was not unlike that of the far more visionary Mr. Matt Busby - making young men's life better through sportsmanship as he managed a winning football team. Yet he blustered out his frustration with the hand he played a great deal … a very great deal, only to relent and give the fellows he worked with another chance, and another, and another. He had much raw talent to work with — boys who could kick, block and run. He had also made a promise to whip each one of them into shape so they could be ready to play for Newcastle.

'Barrow, how many times have I told you not to go out for a smoke?' Mr. Grant - as he was known - was saying to Thomas Barrow, a middling to good striker, as he rounded up his team for the game with Manchester United reserves. 'It's a filthy habit at your age, and it can't be good for you.'

'It helps me relax, Mr. Grant. Today I really need to relax,' Thomas replied, snuffing out a cheap cigarette into the bare ground.

'I really wish you'd find another way to do that. Hoodlums smoke cigarettes, and you might make the team soon, Thomas.'

This umpteenth time Mr. Grant had talked to him about this, Thomas replied, 'yes, sir' for the umpteenth time, knowing it was a habit he did not necessarily want to break….

Meanwhile, four of the Newcastle boys - Evelyn Napier, Kemal Pamuk, Chuck Blake and Tony Gillingham - were roughhousing nearer the pitch.

'I'm so glad this is a home game,' Pamuk was saying, all excited.

'Do you think we'll get our wish and actually beat Manchester?' Napier asked, half hopefully.

'Oh, that too; why not. What I meant was that _she's_ here.'

'And who is 'she', Kemal?' Gillingham retorted smugly.

'Oh, the pretty one in the ticket office…'

'Really? I thought she was Mr. Grant's eldest daughter.'

'You happen to think of her a lot, don't you, Gillingham?' sighed Blake. 'What if she's off limits to any of us on the team?'

Fond of Mary Grant himself, Evelyn Napier rolled his eyes and said, 'She just might have quite a life that none of us happen to see. Now let's warm up. Manchester's coming…'

-0-0-0-0-0-

'Manchester' were indeed coming, getting off their charter bus and walking into the pavilion, on their way to their locker room, right past the ticket office. Mary, Daisy and Anna took time out from setting up the counter to watch as the United lads walked by.

'Their voices are different,' Daisy observed, listening to the lads' banter and their staff's advice to them.

'Of course, Daisy. Manchester is a different place… quite modern, I think,' Mary replied, keeping her eyes ahead as she sized up how wiry, how stocky, how rough and how fine they were.

Enthusiasm radiated from a great many of their guest players, and this brought a smile to the ladies' faces. Then came Matthew and William, their brotherliness evident.

'Mind that step, Billy,' Matt said as he guided his friend right past Mary, Daisy and Anna.

Mary's mouth fell open at the sight of Matthew's big blue eyes and kind expression. Daisy took one look at William, then blushed and smiled as she looked away. Anna smiled to herself, waiting until the boys had passed before she spoke. Mary's eyes still trailed after Matthew…

'If I didn't know better, I'd say the two of you were spellbound over a boy…'

'What?' exclaimed Mary, tearing her eyes away from a young man as handsome as anyone she'd ever seen in the cinemas, utterly different from the chaps on her father's team who had a tendency to stare at her. 'Of course not.'

'Are you a good liar?' Anna teased.

Daisy, meanwhile, let the thought of the nice, tall, brown-eyed boy slip out of her mind for the moment, as there would soon be work to do before the game.


	8. Chapter 8

Once the game was about to start, Mary, Anna and Daisy decided to close up the ticket office and go see the visiting team play - there having been something so infectious about their joy and enthusiasm.

'I think my dear Papa told me that we're welcome to watch the game anytime, anywhere there's an empty seat…' Mary said as they walked to the doors that opened out onto the pitch and the stands.

'I hope we'll get good seats,' said Daisy. 'We sold more tickets than usual today because it's Manchester United.'

As it turned out, there were actually a number of seats on the visitors' side of the pitch and the ladies took three of them. They had a nice view of the midfield…

… 'On the Manchester side: Team co-captain, centre midfielder, number two, Matt Crawley…'

And Matthew ran out into plain view, his blond hair bright in the broad daylight, to a spot in the centre of the pitch where his teammates would join him. Mary thought to herself,

'So his name is Matt… I used to know someone named Matt and he was a nice man who rescued my cat once….'

'Left wingback, number six, Billy Mason' was introduced in good time, and walked very briskly onto the pitch, to stand close to his good friend. Daisy looked at him for a moment longer than she had before, noticing his sheepish smile as the lads around him patted his back, all at ease for now. As soon as the fifteen young men from Manchester had been introduced, it was time for Newcastle to appear on their home ground. At the sound of the familiar names, Anna, Daisy and Mary began to talk amongst themselves.

'… For Newcastle's home team: Co-captain, centre forward, number ten, Tony Gillingham.'

'… did you know he tried to make a pass at me last time we were here? God, he's so pushy…' Mary confided to Anna.

'… Or is it that he's not a dreamboat?' Anna asked, gesturing towards not Gillingham but Matty Crawley.

'Trust me, Anna — Gillingham's pushy. Downright aggressive, and I don't just mean on the pitch.'

'From Turkey… left forward, number 4, Keemal Paymuck….' came the announcer's voice.

When Pamuk hustled onto the field, he glowered in the man's direction, as his name had been mispronounced.

'It's Pah-MOOK, you… you…' the Turk began, as if searching for the right epithet in the English language.

It was then that he noticed Mary sitting with Anna and Daisy, and gave her one of his 'I know I'm fascinating you' looks before veering off to join Gillingham.

'Oh, give me a break, you garlic-studded third rate Casanova,' Mary muttered under her breath. 'Looks aren't everything…'

Barrow, Blake and Napier all lumbered onto the pitch, along with a few others, and soon all waited for the invitation to sing 'God Save the Queen.'


	9. Chapter 9

'… and it's another save by goalkeeper Allan Meares for Manchester. This time it's Paymuck that doesn't score… Meares kicks out to center; it's Matt Crawley who's going to get it into play, and not Gillingham. Crawley to Mason, and it's a chain reaction, back and forth from left wing. Billy Mason's been like lightning; never twice in the same place. To Eccles… Eccles to Blythe… But Barrow's got it, working his way back… thinks he can get it past Mr. Crawley…. but Crawley takes control back, out of Gillingham's reach… Crawley kicks the ball up above Newcastle centre-midfield! Good strategy, powerful move, but who'll get it?'

Robert Grant began to fidget in place on the sideline. His assistant, Murray, looked at his watch momentarily. With 23 minutes and 4 seconds to go until the end of the game, the score was Manchester 2, Newcastle 1….

'And Crawley's put a spin on that ball; it goes to left… Blake and Napier are both running for it. and it looks like Mason might be there, too… Blake makes contact… to Napier… back to Blake…. meanwhile here comes Eccles….'

Mary, Anna and Daisy sipped some lemon squash while watching the game. The decidedly cute Billy Mason had given Daisy a smile within the past hour; Daisy glowed. Mary sometimes caught herself smiling at Matthew whenever he prevailed, but tried to hide that she was actually rooting for someone that didn't play on her father's team.

'Gillingham's trying to block Crawley ahead of time… will that strategy work? Crawley's Manchester's tactician, but Gillingham usually makes up his mind and pushes on… Eccles gets the ball from Charles Blake, and gets away quickly… heading for goal. Can Newcastle defend this time? Here comes Napier after Eccles, and now Blythe decides to close in. Gillingham pulls away from centre midfield…. wait a minute - Barrow's shoving Blythe out of the way, Blythe's on the ground. It's a red card for Thomas Barrow. Looks like Harry Blythe might be injured. Matt Crawley is rushing to his teammate, and asking someone to come in from the sideline… Ball is out of play.'

As the disgruntled Barrow went with a referee off of the pitch, a team medic ran out to Newcastle's territory in order to join Matthew, who had begun to examine Harry's ankle.

'Harry, does it feel like you've twisted your ankle?' Matthew asked in a calm voice as he knelt beside the poor centre-forward.

'Let's hope it's more like I sprained it, Matt. It hurts like h—l!'

Meanwhile Robert Grant met Barrow with a scowl, raising his voice.

'Whatever possessed you to act like such a barbarian? I've half a mind to have you sit out the next three games!'

And all the yelling Mr. Grant could possibly do could only put the fear of God in Thomas momentarily; they both knew it. But he didn't usually get a red card for his antics on the pitch.

Once Matthew and the medic had put Harry Eccles' ankle into a splint and seen him carried off the pitch, play resumed - though not before a round of applause was given to Harry, who had scored the first point for Manchester. Matt hurried back onto the field, to face a surly Gillingham who wanted nothing more than to even the score within the next fifteen minutes. Nothing, of course, against Matthew….

'Let's see how the rest of the game goes, Boy Scout…' Gillingham muttered under his breath at the fair-haired, blue-eyed good neighbour, while the ball was put back into play at the left sideline. Meanwhile Nate Preston had replaced Harry Eccles, and came to the task all fresh and eager. Young Nate soon made contact with the ball, and aimed for Newcastle's goal. The ball sailed past Blake, only to be caught by one Gerry Winston, who kept the goal. Newcastle supporters breathed a sigh of relief, then kept their fingers crossed as Winston kicked the ball out into the field, with far less of a spin than Matty had given it earlier. Tony Gillingham smiled. He could just taste taking control of the ball, manoevering right past Matty, and scoring easily. But he did not take Bob Raybourne into account. The ball came to Bob instead, and he happily sent it to the right wing, Jim Hopkins. This made Matty very happy that everyone's teamwork factored into the day's play.

'Good on you, gents!' Matthew rose his voice joyfully.

'Thanks, Matt!' they yelled back, sending the ball back and forth past Kemal Pamuk with ease.

After one more failed attempt to score made by Pamuk, only twenty seconds remained of the game, and it was decided to let the clock tick those out. The score remained Manchester 2, Newcastle 1.


	10. Chapter 10

Bob Grant tended to play nonchalant after football matches, whether his team won or lost. As the spectators left the stands, he shook hands with Manchester's assistant coach, John Bates, whom he had known ever since his own days on the pitch.

'Long time no see, Bates! How've you been?'

'Not complaining, Bob…. not complaining. I may have gotten the short end of the stick, but life after divorce is calmer. And these kids I'm helping train are a nice bunch….'

'I could tell. They're enthusiastic and they work together well. If I had even one player like your lads I'd be more of an optimist right now. Who was that boy who performed first aid, your team captain? I'd like to meet him…'

'Oh, that's Matty Crawley. Everyone likes him. Tips his cap to the ladies, plays with the little boys that follow the team around… a nice chap. There he is, over there with Billy and Allan… hey, Matthew! Bring your friends and come here, will you?'

Matt answered cheerily:

'Oh, right away, Mr. Bates!'

And he came right over with Billy Mason and Allan Meares, all three still brimming over with excitement.

-0-0-0-0-0-

Meanwhile, another sort of meeting was being planned….

'Oh, will you look at those fellows. The one who got carded is sulking,' Anna said. 'What he should be is sorry for shoving the player from Manchester.'

'Quite true,' Mary replied. 'How my dear Papa has cobbled together such a motley crew as our reserves almost makes me despair for the game of football.'

'I wish we could meet the fellows from Manchester…' Daisy piped up.

'Me, too. Here, all we have are a tribe of savages. I'm just glad I don't have to see them every week. The way they carry on…'

The ladies talked amongst themselves, but so did certain Newcastle chaps.

'Oh, I can tell she was watching me. She couldn't keep her eyes off of me…'

'Says who, Pamuk? Or should I say, 'Pay-muck'?

You're asking for a fight, Gillingham… but I don't want to ruin my good looks on your account. Not when I'm going to get the girl,' Pamuk said, puffing out his chest.

'You are? How would that happen?'

'Just watch me, Blake. Ten quid says I'll tame her like a budgie.'

'It's a bet, Kemal. Easiest money I ever made… ha!'

And of course, none of these fellows knew her very well at all.

-0-0-0-0-0-

Mary had decided to go back towards the ticket office to fetch her lipstick, as Anna and Daisy stayed behind to gossip and gawk. Apparently Anna thought Manchester's coach attractive now… was it something bred into these fellows? Honestly… ! And even Robert had taken a shine to the ones he had just met, especially Matthew….

'So this is your first year on the reserves, Matt? Did you come up through Mr. Busby's junior division?'

'We all did,' Matthew replied with an endearing smile. 'Part of our upbringing, and very nice, wasn't it, fellows?'

William and Allan spoke in the affirmative, as humbly and likably as their captain. All walked around the Newcastle pitch with Mr. Grant and Mr. Bates, complimentary of the facility, the cleanliness and the maintenance of the turf.

'… and it was such an exciting, close game, wasn't it, Matty?' Billy exclaimed then.

'Quite a challenge, I'll say. It was great fun!' Matt declared before turning to compliment his opponents.

You have a powerful lineup, Mr. Grant!'

'Thank you….' Robert answered Matty, graciously.

What Matthew had said was true, but Robert ached inside — if only there were more like these lads, whose politeness and love for their city was obvious. Could he learn a thing or two from Mr. Busby, he wondered….

…. when suddenly there came cries and screams from an area just behind the stands, closer to the pavilion.

'No! No! Let me go… please!'

'Oh, no… you are saying no, but you surely mean yes… ' a smooth, foreign voice drawled

'No… stop…STOP IT!'

'That's my daughter's voice! What the devil…' Robert began

But it was Matthew who burst into a run, quick to hear, quick to respond. As soon as he saw what was going on - a Newcastle player trying to force himself on a young lady where he thought he could not be seen, Matty yelled,

'You heard her! Let her go!'

And Kemal Pamuk froze for a moment.

'And if I don't? Mind your own business, Man-Chest-No Hair…'

'You will. That's not sporting of you,' Matthew said quietly, having gotten to the scene of the crime.

Mary could not believe her eyes. The good samaritan from Manchester, Matt Crawley, the one she had been watching, had come to save her from the brutish lout from abroad. Pamuk let her go, to face Matty and challenge him.

'I'm not one of you milquetoast English… Back home I take whatever I want… the ladies throw themselves at me! But I like the ones who put up a fight; they get me all excited…. and this one is no exception…'

Matthew glanced at Mary, whose beautiful face had gone pale with terror. At once his blue eyes filled with rage.

'You liar!' he snarled at Pamuk.

By now a crowd, one that included Anna, Daisy, Evelyn Napier, Thomas Barrow, Robert, Mr. Bates, Billy and Allan, had gathered around the scene.

'You're no match for me off the field… and certainly not in….'

And Pamuk snickered, looking Matthew up and down as if to size him up.

'How utterly obscene!' Matthew declared.

And in defence of Mary's honour and his own,, Matthew raised a fist, landing a punch on Pamuk's jaw. Mary watched, gasping at both men. Everyone else but Robert was speechless as they continued to give the two a wide berth.

'He's a disgrace to the unitorm. I'm sending him back home to Turkey, he's washed up,' he muttered to Bates. 'Hope Matthew shows him what for; please don't card him for this…'

'On the contrary… I mustn't mention this at all,' Bates replied.

In the meantime, Pamuk had hurled himself at Matthew, who promptly threw him off. In the midst of a second approach, Robert Grant rose his voice.

'All right, break it up. Break it up! What happened here?'

People gathered around, now that the struggle was over. Mary began,

'Oh, Papa, I….'

'Later, Mary… I want to hear it from my former player first.'

Kemal Pamuk at once became indignant, and spluttered his reply.

'What! I thought I was special! The pride of Turkey, come all the way to England for you. And now you say that?'

Robert Grant's voice was cool. He already had an idea of what had gone on...

'I do. You'll be sent home, first thing tomorrow morning.'


	11. Chapter 11

To say Robert Grant was livid over Kemal Pamuk's inexcusable behaviour towards his eldest daughter would understate the matter. As a manager he was responsible for the reputation of his team one and off the field. As the owner of an entire grocery chain he could hire people or make them redundant. As a participant in a foreign exchange programme for the football league, he had not wished to become a disciplinarian to some immature young man who thought himself God's gift to the game… or Allah's, or whoever this arrogant kid worshipped other than himself.

'Napier,' Mr. Grant ordered the only other man there in a Newcastle uniform, 'come with us. I want a witness, even if you're not impartial.'

'Yes, sir!' Evelyn Napier replied, standing to attention, falling into place behind as his manager hauled the miscreant Turk into the pavilion, leaving all the others at the scene behind, even Mary.

Anna and Daisy wanted to go to Mary, though the handsome visitors they also wanted to see were there, too, and might be met in due time before they left. John Bates stood with Allan Meares and Billy Mason, as other Manchester players took note of where he was while going about their business. Matt Crawley found himself by poor Mary, and looked at her with the solicitous anxiety any rescuer might possess…

… and something just a wee bit more intense. She was the loveliest girl that Matthew had ever seen, and she had nearly been taken advantage of. His mother had told him that a gentleman always asks before kissing a lady, and he kept such things in mind - that was why, as he realised he had just fallen in love at first sight, his outrage on her behalf remained and became the gist of his first words to her.

'Will you be all right, dear?' Matt asked, wanting to offer a healing touch but instantly much too aware of how he - gentle as he was - had addressed her.

Mary looked at her defender through the same eyes that had admired his finesse on the pitch, but also a filter of bewildered embarrassment. This was not how she had wanted to meet Manchester's co-captain and volunteer medic! And yet, he was here, his eyes so kind and doctor-like and _blue_… a calm, heavenly blue, like the sky that wrapped the countryside nearer her home in a loving embrace.

'Oh, I think so… I've just got to dust myself off again. I'm not some fragile goddess in an art song, now, am I?'

'Nor can I sing that well…' Matt observed, thinking back to the previous Sunday morning and 'Crown Him with many crowns', his voice low in every way.

'But you shone today on the pitch. You're the captain, aren't you? Mary said, beginning to move beyond what had just happened to her.

'When it's my turn,' he replied sheepishly. 'By the way… I'm Matthew. Matthew Crawley.'

'Pleased to meet you, Matthew. I'm Mary Grant…'

And she was almost embarrassed that the main reason she was here was that her father had given her a job, not that she liked football. But there was something about Manchester United, even the reserves, and about this gentle lad who had defended her honour. She felt safe with Matty, in a way no one who played for the Newcastle reserves could make her feel.

'Mary is such a pretty name. It suits you,' Matt spoke, his tone soothing and warm.

'And I like yours, too…'

They were flirting only a little, and then something occurred to him.

'Was I talking to your father, Mary?'

'Yes, you were. He's a g-good man, isn't he? Even if he can't…'

Matthew saw the pain and shock that were still in her. Of course her father had had no control over the brute that had tried to force himself onto Mary, and even if, as she had implied, he had not been able to make gentlemen of his charges, Bob Grant had offered his best remedy.

'Of course. I liked meeting him! The both of you are quite likable.'

Mary blushed, and smiled. Matthew's words, as well as his voice, were healing, soothing. She did not have to say 'I like you, too', for he could tell, somehow. It was too bad she did not live in Manchester…

'Would your father be able to bring you when your team comes to Manchester to play us again?'

'I don't know… but I'd like to see you again, too. I wish we weren't on opposing sides, Matthew.'

She had made his name a song, it seemed to him.

'We… you and I… are not. I hope you can come! I'd show you the nicest places in my part of the city.'

She imagined that going to the park, the tea shop, the church and where she might meet his mother would be sweet, if somewhat quaint. The local cinema - less quaint, and she would be with Matthew Crawley, after all….

'That would be nice! I'll see if I can come.'

It was as if Matthew had convinced her that football was a beautiful game after all.

'Mary! Er… Miss Grant… your father would like you to come see him…' came a voice beside her then, nearly stammering.

Evelyn Napier stood shaking before her, and Matthew noticed his fearful air.

'Oh, I should go. Thank you for everything, Matthew Crawley! Goodbye…'

She gave him a smile, sweet and a bit sad, then began to walk away.

'Goodbye, Mary…' Matthew said softly, a note of adoration creeping into his voice.

It had not been drowned out by the boyish shouts of 'Matty! and 'Matt!' which made their own kind of music to Mary's ears as Napier accompanied her to her father's office.


End file.
